


And Heroes Never

by Scrawlers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: Ash is the chosen one, or so they say—a hero, and certain things are expected of heroes, even if they are only ten-years-old, and even if they did have to know that one of their friends died because they couldn’t save him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU/canon divergence for the Flare arc/ending of the series, which was written before we knew how the Flare arc would conclude. Nonetheless, I hope it's enjoyable regardless.

Ash let himself cry at the funeral, because people cried at funerals. This was something he knew, if not something he had experienced before that moment, based on stories he had heard and movies he had watched from the stairs when his mom thought he was in bed, sleeping. People cried at weddings too, he knew, though he had never been one to one of those either, and thought maybe crying at weddings was a different kind of crying.

But he let himself cry at the funeral, if only a little and with his hat tugged low so not many people could see, and he wasn’t the only one. He held both Clemont’s and Serena’s hands, and Clemont squeezed his hand so tightly it hurt while Serena’s quiet sobs made her hand tremble. Manon was seated down the row, curled into a little ball in her chair, but her breathy sobs were so high pitched they were better compared to squeaks as she tried to make it through the service. Professor Sycamore stood up to speak at one point, but he made it barely three sentences in before he had to leave, and while Ash didn’t look at him he could tell from the catch in his voice that he was crying, too. So many people were crying all around him—in the rows behind, to his right and left—and so Ash let himself cry because it was allowed here. He could cry here. Here, it was okay for heroes to cry, and Pikachu proved it by letting his own tears soak the crook of Ash’s shoulder when Lizardon showed up to lay defensively in front of Alan’s grave.

But he didn’t let himself cry after that. When they ate dinner that night he smiled at Pikachu and said, “Say when” when holding the ketchup bottle over Pikachu’s plate, letting him have as much as he wanted. (Pikachu never said “when” and eventually Clemont had Clembot take the ketchup bottle back, much to Pikachu’s consternation.) He grinned and told Bonnie that the new phanpy pajamas her dad got her looked great, and reminded him of his old phanpy, before she evolved into a donphan. When he said he was turning in early for the night and Serena asked if he was feeling okay, he pumped his fists and said that yeah, of course he was, he just wanted to make sure he had enough energy for the ceremony the next morning. Serena smiled, relieved, and Ash held Pikachu in his arms as he went to bed, to get the rest he told her he would. He needed it—needed to sleep—because heroes didn’t stay up all night brooding.

When Professor Sycamore presented him with the Hero of Kalos award, Ash thanked him and smiled as the crowd cheered and applauded. When Professor Sycamore had to exit the stage and Diantha read Alan’s name from the memorial list instead, Ash swallowed and closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t feel like crying, because if there was one thing he had learned over his travels it was that if he believed in and worked at something hard enough he could usually make it come true.

(Usually, but not this time, because even though heroes could do anything, he—)

He left Kalos the day after the ceremony, abruptly and announced at breakfast that morning. It wasn’t anything he had thought about, anything he had planned; but as he stared at his eggs and toast he realized he didn’t want to be there anymore. He didn’t want to be in Lumiose, didn’t want to be in Kalos—he wanted to be home, in Pallet. He wanted to see his mom. And so he said, “I’m going home today,” and when everyone stared at him, clarified, “Back to Pallet. To Kanto. I think I’m gonna go home today.”

His friends were dismayed, of course. Bonnie asked, “Why?!” before she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his middle. Clemont asked him if he was sure, and Serena asked what brought this on.

Ash shrugged, and smiled at her as he said, “I just know there’s a new adventure for me out there, right? Gotta keep moving forward.”

She still looked sad, somehow—forlorn, unsure. But she smiled back, admiration in her eyes, and he knew that even if she didn’t want to hear that he was leaving, she still took comfort in his response. After all, heroes never gave up.

Ash slept for most of the flight back to Kanto—or tried to sleep, anyway, slept when he wasn’t thinking about how Alan had told him to _go_ , had told him to take Greninja and _go_ because he was the only one who could save Kalos. He slept when he wasn’t thinking about how he had made Alan promise to be okay, and how Alan had said, “Yeah,” and how he had felt even as he ran that running was the wrong answer, that it was _wrong_ , that it was _wrong, wrong, wrong_ and that he should go _back_ because he was supposed to be a hero, and heroes didn’t leave their friends behind. He slept, but when he did he could hear Lizardon’s anguished roar and could see Manon collapsed in heaving sobs as Professor Sycamore cradled Alan’s body in his arms, and so he didn’t sleep very much.

He hadn’t told anyone that he was returning to Kanto, so when he landed at the airport he headed back to Pallet Town on his own. Halfway there he saw Team Rocket’s balloon hovering in the air nearby (and really, it was kind of impressive just how quickly they could follow him halfway around the world), but they didn’t approach him and so he held off on having Pikachu shock them. He stopped by to visit Pidgeot on his way back home—Pidgeot had a newly hatched family, a little crowd of pidgey that hopped joyfully around Ash’s feet and accidentally kicked up feeble sand attacks in their excitement—and that made him smile, especially when Pidgeot instructed his babies to let Ash pet them. Only one of them got a bit overwhelmed and bit him, and even then, she was such a little one it didn’t hurt very much.

When he did make it home it was late afternoon—too late for lunch, but too early for dinner, and Ash didn’t mind because he wasn’t very hungry anyway. From the gate alone he could already smell remnants of his mother’s cooking from breakfast (or maybe lunch), the aroma of the roses and bell flowers from the garden, and a scent he couldn’t put a specific name to, but that made his chest constrict and made him simply think _home._ The gate squeaked when he pushed it open, and when he reached the front door he could hear his mother singing from the open kitchen window on the other side of the house. She was home—that was good. He wanted to surprise her. Hopefully Mimey wouldn’t see him first and ruin that.

“Mom?” he called as he stepped into the foyer. “I’m home.”

The sound of something heavy and metal hitting the kitchen sink partially drowned out his mother’s excited squeal, but in the next second she appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a delighted smile on her face as she ran over and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Ash! I had no idea you were coming home today!” She drew back, her hands on his shoulders still, beaming at him. “Oh, how are you? How was the Kalos League? I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to watch it, things have been so busy around here. I’ve actually been helping Spencer and his family out a bit lately by getting Molly prepared for her trainer certifica—Ash? Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

“Huh?” Ash blinked, and when he did, tears he hadn’t realized he had been holding slipped down his cheeks. Pikachu murmured _“Pikapi”_ into his ear and nuzzled against his cheek, and Ash jerked his head in a motion that was caught halfway between a nod and a shake. “Oh, uh—yeah, Mom, everything’s—everything’s great, I—”

“Honey—oh honey, come here.” His mother wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him into the living room as Mimey descended the staircase with a laundry basket. Ash sat down on the sofa next to his mother, who kept him in her embrace, and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly as Pikachu hopped down into his lap. “Tell me what happened. Did the League go poorly?”

“No. Actually, I did—it was really great. I came in second place.” Ash smiled as best he could, as heroes did, and felt a little warmer as his mother’s eyes widened and a wide smile split her cheeks. “It was really close, too. We were both down to our last pokémon. Me and Greninja, and—and Alan with Lizardon. We all tried our hardest and it was . . . it was a really amazing battle.” Ash scratched Pikachu behind the ears, and Pikachu rubbed his head against Ash’s palm.

“That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you! And even more upset now that I missed it.” His mother thumped her free hand against her knee, and Ash nodded as he looked back down at Pikachu. After a moment, his mother asked softly, “But if it’s not the League, then what’s upsetting you?”

“Nothing’s—it’s nothing,” Ash said, and he tried to shrug, to show that it was nothing and that he was fine (because heroes were always fine), but his mother didn’t let him go.

“Ash, don’t you lie to me,” his mother said firmly. “You’re clearly very upset, and I want to know why. What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” Ash said, even though he could still see the view of Lumiose City from the side of Prism Tower, could feel the phantom burn of mega evolution energy beneath his skin, could remember the red, red, red glow behind his eyes. “It’s not that.” Because it wasn’t, not really. Even if it kind of was, it really wasn’t. Maybe he had almost died, but that wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the first time he had actually died, he didn’t think, although he wasn’t sure if it counted as a real death if he came back to life again later. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to wonder about that.

“Then what is it?” When he didn’t reply immediately, his mother added, “Sweetheart, please, you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” he said, because he did. Because even if he was a hero—even if he was _her_ hero, as she had told him in the Orange Islands after he averted the apocalypse for the first (second?) time, she was also his mom and he was her son, and he thought that maybe it was okay for him to tell her because of that. Maybe it was okay for him to be a son instead of a hero for a minute, and maybe it was okay for sons to tell their mothers how they felt, and maybe it was okay for sons to hurt, for sons to cry, for sons to admit that they— “I . . . It’s just that . . .” He dug his fingers into Pikachu’s fur—not enough to hurt, but enough to seek comfort, enough for Pikachu to cuddle closer against his stomach. “I didn’t . . . I was supposed to, but I didn’t save . . . everyone.”

“You were supposed to what?”

“I was supposed to save everyone,” he said, and his throat felt thick, like he had swallowed an apple whole. He tried to swallow it. “I was—I’m—I’m a hero, Mom. That’s what they said, that’s what everyone said and I always—did, right? I always did it. I saved the world before, lots of times. And I always—I always saved . . . I always saved everyone when I could, when I was there to save them. I did it, I always did.”

“You did, but . . . honey, what’s—”

“But I didn’t this time.” His voice cracked, squeaked like Manon’s had when she had cried at the funeral, and he sniffed as he scrubbed at the tears in his eyes. “I was su-supposed to, they said—Olympia said I would, she foresaw it, but I—I didn’t. Lots of people—lots of people died. And one of them—Alan—he—”

“Ash—”

“H-He was my—my friend and I—I c-couldn’t—!”

He doubled over as the sobs overtook him, tears splashing down his cheeks as his mother pulled him into a full embrace (Pikachu bounding off his lap) and tucked his head against her chest. Heroes didn’t cry, but Ash did as he clung to his mother and she stroked his hair and said, “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay, everything’s fine, I’m here.” He cried and he cried, a week’s worth of crying in that one moment, because maybe he was a hero and heroes didn’t cry, but his mother was his _Mom_ and she didn’t mind.


End file.
